


a red hell but at least you're here with me

by jaythewriter



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Kind of Hurt-Comfort, M/M, Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaythewriter/pseuds/jaythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jay has been alone for a long time now. Seeing Alex's familiar face, even with the state it's in, is a relief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a red hell but at least you're here with me

**Author's Note:**

> Post-MH, kind of a 'Jay and Alex trapped in TO's world' fic. Has a faint aftertaste of amnesia trope.
> 
> CW for blood, body horror, and vomit.

when you find him lying in the dirt, he is a broken mass of bones. he is more blood than skin and you don’t know how he got that way, but that’s not your first concern-- you know you have to fix him.

he is slippery to the touch and he is heavier than you remember. or perhaps you are weaker after years of torturing your body with the promise of food, just, later, you’ll get it later. though he moans and curses you to high hell 

(you are already there)

(pitch black trees, pitch black night, pitch black eyes glaring you down through the shadows, everywhere, everywhere, you’re being watched)

(and finally, you are numb to it)

he does not, or, cannot fight you off. you do not know where you are bringing him but you picture a soft, safe place, a bed, your childhood bed covered in the fluffy cheetah-print blankets you thought were so cool. 

it appears in the middle of these strange and sharp woods, plain as day, no explanation and you do not question it, as you do not question these red skies, red as your hands when they come away from his gasping form.

these trees bear leaves as large as your head. you need not go far to pluck one from the branches, rising up on your toes to snatch one away. when you press it to his spurting throat, it melds perfectly to his skin, like it’s meant to be there. his wet gasping judders to a stop, and he coughs, black somethings trailing from his lips and scuttling away from his mouth. they flee from him and the bed, back to the woods where they belong.

you feel you should be horrified. you’re too fixed on him and finding him relief from his pain.

“Shoulder,” he utters out of a throat scraped raw from screaming.

taking the hint, you find a second low hanging branch and rip a leaf down. indeed, one of his shoulders is emptying out, and it too stops when you hold the green leaf to it. it does not stain over red as you would expect it to. 

he heaves for a good few moments, arms wrapped around himself. you watch, keeping a close eye on him for more blood, running your hand up and down his back. 

how long has it been since you gently touched him?

these woods are quiet. his fussing and cursing is the only sound for miles. if this place even stretches further out, that is. you cannot imagine what is beyond these trees. they are all you have known for weeks. months. perhaps the expanse of your entire life. time is something you have lost understanding of. you could not possibly tell him how long you have been here.

finally, after he has cried the last of the tears he has to give, he looks at you, roves his eyes over your form, and he begins to sob again, dry-heaving when he puts too much force into it.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” he promises, over and over again, and you come up onto the bed, drawing him into your arms and letting him break all over you.

if only you could remember what he was sorry for, you could tell him it’s okay now.


End file.
